


Tenderly the Night

by Morbidmuch



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M, Hermione Granger Being a Know-It-All, Necromancy, Rituals, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-04
Updated: 2020-10-31
Packaged: 2021-03-07 20:53:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 15,148
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26813926
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Morbidmuch/pseuds/Morbidmuch
Summary: Hermione brings back Snape from the dead. He is not amused.
Relationships: Hermione Granger/Severus Snape
Comments: 200
Kudos: 382
Collections: Hearts and Cauldrons Discord Members, SSHG Spooktober Fest 2020





	1. Part One

**Author's Note:**

> Happy Spooktober! 🎃👻🦇🍂
> 
> As always, a whole bunch of credit to turtle_wexler and q_drew for being amazing 💖
> 
> This chapter contains a trigger warning for cutting and the use of blood for a dark ritual. It's not described in gory detail, but if you know you are triggerered by this, proceed with caution.

The Shrieking Shack closed in around her. Frowning, Hermione looked around. Where was Harry and Ron? She blinked. There was a black-clad figure standing in the far corner, back towards her. Snape. Her stomach rolled. They needed to leave. It wasn't safe there. You-Know-Who could be back any minute. And they still needed to kill the snake.

“Why didn't you save me?” his voice was barely louder than a whisper.

“Sir?” she said, voice echoing strangely in the small space.

He spun around, robes billowing around him. She stifled a scream. The side of his neck was a big gaping hole, shirt and robes drenched in blood that glistened in the low light. His black eyes were wide holes in his narrow face. Then he was in front of her, hands gripping her upper arms tightly and face so close to hers she could smell the blood.

“Why didn't you save me?” he roared.

Before she could answer, his body started to shake violently. His face twisted in pain, and with a bone-chilling scream, he shattered to pieces right in front of her.

Hermione's eyes snapped open, the scream caught in her throat. Her ears were ringing, pulse racing. Another nightmare. Her surroundings were dark, and she reached for her wand on the bedside table to cast Tempus.

It was only four o'clock in the morning.

She sat up and ran her trembling hands through her sweaty curls. There would be no going back to sleep. At least there were no disgruntled roommates who had been awoken by her nightmare. Only five students had returned for their eight year at Hogwarts, and the Headmistress had made the decision to give them private rooms in an Eastern corridor on the sixth floor, which was as much for their benefit as for the rest of the student body.

Rising from the bed, she shivered when her sweat-soaked skin met the night air. Despite the warming charms woven through the stones, the castle was always chilly at night. She went into the bathroom, where she blinked blearily at the harsh light. Putting her damp pyjamas in the laundry bin – where it would disappear to be laundered by the House-elves – she turned on the shower. The temperature was practically scalding, but Hermione still felt cold as the water beat down on her body.

She had been having the same nightmare for months, ever since she watched in horror as Severus Snape bled to death in the Shrieking Shack. Several times a week she woke up either screaming or in tears, the scent of his blood still lingering in her nose. She regretted all deaths in the battle, but none as much as his. What a life wasted, cursed by a twenty-year-old mistake he could never escape. Severus Snape was the biggest tragedy of the Wizarding War.

Stepping out of the shower, Hermione avoided the mirror. She knew what she would see: a body that was still too thin, brittle hair, and eyes that had seen too much. Sometimes she wondered if she was even still a person, after all she'd seen and done. The scar on her forearm throbbed. The Healers had been able to remove the curse from the wound, but nothing could fade the scarring. She had felt strangely detached when they told her. What was a little bit of scarring, the Healer had said. At least she was still alive.

Hermione got dressed and pulled her still wet curls into a French plait, then grabbed her beaded bag and left her room. The corridors were dim and empty; Hermione didn't even see any of the ghosts on her walk down to the kitchens. The House-elves seemed to have forgiven her for trying to give them clothes back in her fourth-year and practically fell over themselves to offer her breakfast. She could only stomach a cup of coffee and a piece of plain toast.

She had thought going back to Hogwarts would be exactly what she needed; some normality after everything that had happened. Instead, she'd never felt more out of place. She walked the corridors and ate in the Great Hall and went to her classes, but it all felt wrong. She was no longer an enthusiastic schoolgirl, determined to prove she belonged. Harry and Ron had opted not to return; Kingsley's offer to join the Auror programme had proven too tempting. Maybe she should have done the same.

As the castle slowly began to wake, Hermione sat in an alcove near the library and looked out over the grounds. The dark stone of the war memorial shone in the early morning light. She had been there for the unveiling, right before the start of term. The names of those who lost their lives in the war – not only those who died at the Battle of Hogwarts – were carved into the marble. She remembered watching them uncover it, seeing so many names of people she knew. Her eyes had lingered over Snape's name. He didn't deserve to die. Not after everything he'd done for them, for devoting his life to the Order.

At once it all became clear, like suddenly remembering something she'd almost forgotten. She knew what she was going to do.

She was going to bring Severus Snape back from the dead.

–

Once she had made up her mind, she was filled with a new kind of exuberance. She had no idea how she would pull it off, but she would try anything. Shutting herself into her room, Hermione pulled up her calendar. She had only three weeks until Halloween. It was also the Gaelic festival of Samhain, where the barriers between the physical world and the spirit world would break. If she was going to attempt it, it would need to be then.

Rubbing her eyes with her hand, Hermione sighed. The problem was she didn't know where to start. Where would she even find a book with that kind of information? Books like that didn't just lay around for anyone to read it. She froze. Of course. How could she forget? She reached for her beaded bag at the foot of her bed, and a summoning charm later a large book bound in faded black leather flew into her hand.

Secrets of the Darkest Art.

The first and only time she'd read through it – when they were hunting Horcruxes and starving in a freezing tent – she'd found it repulsive. It contained the darkest and most horrific spells and rituals one could think of (and a few you couldn't), and if there was anywhere she could find the information she needed, it was in that book.

Just opening the book made Hermione feel dirty. The things that book contained... She shuddered. Taking a deep breath, she locked away all her emotions and started to read. Near the end of the book, she found what she was looking for. Reading over the ritual, her stomach turned. She paused. Was she really doing this? She had never read about a successful resurrection. Then she thought back to Snape bleeding out on a dirty floor, eyes frenzied and desperate. No, she needed to do this. She owed it to him to try.

–

The week before Halloween, Hermione went to the Headmistress to request permission to go down to London. Though she'd never been a very good liar she concocted a story about meeting an estate agent about her parents' house, which Professor McGonagall believed.

Feeling maybe more paranoid than she ought, Hermione Apparated first to her parents' house in Bromley. There she changed out of her muggle jeans and jumper and into transfigured black robes. The many buttons and high neck reminded her of Professor Snape, which she found fitting. She practised her glamour several times before she was satisfied she wouldn't be recognised going into Knockturn Alley. Her eyes lightened, her hair turned straight, short and blonde and her skin darkened to a healthy tanned shade. Disturbingly, she almost looked like Lockhart's long lost sister. Shaking off the notion, she braced herself and Apparated to Knockturn Alley.

The wizard behind the counter in The Coffin House barely looked at Hermione when she entered. Pulse racing, she tried to give off an air of superiority and confidence. It felt like when she was impersonating Bellatrix all over again. He eyed her suspiciously when she stated which items she wanted to purchase, but did not comment as he gathered her order.

Ten minutes later she exited the shop, transfigured beaded bag filled with all the items on her list. Concentrating on the three D's, she Apparated back to Bromley, where she collapsed on the sofa. Her knees were still shaking. She had all the things she needed for the ritual now, bar two. Blood from the caster – her – and something belonging to the deceased. She knew from Harry that Spinner's End had been untouched since the war, waiting for the Wizengamot to make up their minds about what to do with it since Snape had left no will.

Disillusioned, Hermione Apparated to Spinner's End. The end of terrace house looked run down and bleak in the autumn sunlight. With a wave of her wand, she exposed the wards. Surprisingly, they weren't too advanced; it wouldn't take her more than a minute or two to take them down.

Once inside the house, she didn't dare linger; she wasn't convinced there wouldn't be additional wards or alarms, and the last thing she needed was to get caught inside by Aurors and having to explain what she was doing there. Going up the hidden staircase she found herself on a small landing with two closed doors. She tried the left one – which was unlocked – and walked into what must have been Snape's childhood bedroom. A narrow bed stood underneath the cracked window, grey sheets in disarray as though the occupant of the bed had just left it. A rickety bookcase with a few books and a Muggle chessboard stood by the door, both covered in dust.

In the tall wardrobe in the corner, she found several pieces of clothing – black, of course – that had belonged to Snape. She ran her hand over the scratchy wool of a frock coat. Even months later it smelled of smoke and herbs, like it was clinging to keep some part of the Potions Master alive. Plucking it from the hanger, Hermione carefully folded it and put it in her bag.

–

Whether she was ready or not – and she didn't feel it – Halloween was fast approaching. She had already asked Harry to borrow the cloak and the Marauder's Map, which he had sent over without any questions. He probably thought she would be sneaking to the library after hours.

The night before Halloween Hermione went over her plan and double-checked she had everything required for the ritual. She planned on staying behind from the Feast, claiming illness, then don the cloak and sneak down to the Whomping Willow once the Feast was underway. The secret passageway that led up to the Shrieking Shack was still intact, and that was the route she was planning to take. Once inside the Shack... Who knew what would happen?

The knock startled her. Hastily gathering all of her items and pushing them underneath the duvet, she went for the door.

Ginny was on the other side, fiddling with the ends of her hair. “Can I come in?”

“Of course.” Hermione stepped aside. Mindful of the items hidden beneath the duvet, she sat on the foot of the bed. “Is everything all right?”

Ginny took the chair and offered a wan smile. “I was going to ask you the same thing. You've been...distant, lately.”

Hermione tried a smile, but it felt wrong. “I'm fine, Ginny. Honestly. It's just a lot. Being back here, after everything that's happened.”

“I know what you mean.” Ginny sighed. “Things won't ever be the same, will they?”

Hermione looked down, pulling on a loose thread on the duvet. “I don't think they can be. They can be normal, I hope, but not the same as they were.”

Ginny let out a frustrated huff. “Well, I want things to be normal soon.”

Hermione felt the outline of the book beneath her fingers. “Me too.”

Soon, at least one thing would be back to normal.

–

The morning of the Halloween Feast, Hermione was sick.

Flushing the toilet, she leaned back against the wall and closed her eyes. She must be mental to think she could actually succeed. Rising on shaky legs, she rinsed her mouth several times. The least she could do was to try. Anything to make the nightmares stop. Maybe they weren't just nightmares, maybe they meant something more? He kept asking her why she didn't save him; now she could. She had tried using Dreamless Sleep to stop the nightmares, but it had stopped working months ago. So she would try. If it didn't succeed, if something went wrong, she knew what to do. 

She found it difficult to focus on anything that day; in her mind she was constantly going over the ritual, trying to anticipate every way things could go wrong.

Feigning illness proved easy, as she was jittery and nauseous in anticipation. An hour before the Feast was due to begin, she rose from the sofa in the Gryffindor Common Room and excused herself.

Once back in her room, Hermione couldn't stop pacing. She needed to let the Feast begin before she went down; the corridors would be empty and there was less of a chance she would be discovered. She checked her beaded bag once more – for the fourth time that day – to check that everything was packed. The map and the cloak lay ready on her bed.

All she could do now was wait.

–

Going through the castle under the Invisibility Cloak was easier than she thought. She checked the map every couple of minutes, and found each time that everyone was still gathered in the Great Hall. It was only when she came down to the Entrance Hall that her heart started to race. Casting a voiceless Disillusionment spell, her arm reached outside the cloak for the door. The great oak door gave a low groan as it opened. Hermione slid through, then carefully shut the door behind her.

It was a starry night, the gibbous moon pale in the dark sky. Hermione cast a warming charm as she hurried down towards the Whomping Willow. Her breath was loud in her ears, and the map rustled in her grip. She glanced down at it. Everyone was still in the Great Hall. Good.

Reaching the Whomping Willow, she found a long branch on the ground which she levitated to knock on the knot by the base of the tree. At once the Willow froze, dry leaves rustling in the wind. She stared at the entry to the passageway. Both times she'd gone through that passageway and the tunnel, it had involved Snape in one way or the other. Hopefully, he'd be climbing back out of it with her this time.

Once she was inside the tunnel, Hermione cancelled the Disillusionment spell and removed the cloak. Bundling it up in her beaded bag, she started to crawl. The earth was cool underneath her fingers. The tunnel seemed much longer than she remembered. When the tunnel finally started sloping upwards, she knew she had almost reached the end. This time there was no crate blocking the entrance to the room ahead.

Her back gave several pops as she stood up straight. Looking around, she froze. The room hadn't changed since the last time she was there; the mangled table, the broken crate Harry had moved aside. And there, on the floor near the wall, was a large red stain. That was where Severus Snape had bled out five months previously. Hermione's stomach turned.

Right, she needed to get started.

Approaching the spot where Snape had died, she knelt and opened her beaded bag. First, she pulled out the wool frock coat and placed it carefully over the bloodstains on the floor. Then she took out her silver knife, a large container and the items required for the ritual.

Picking up the book, she rose and used her wand to draw the runes from the book onto the floor. Then she placed and lit several candles in a semi-circle over the symbols enclosing both her and the cloak on the floor, then took a deep breath. It was time to begin.

First, she poured the pomegranate juice – she had bought the pomegranates from the Tesco near her parents' house and juiced them herself – into the container and spoke the first incantation. She had practised the Latin several times over the past weeks to make sure she got everything correct. An invisible wind whipped her robes around, and the Shack suddenly felt stifling. Heart racing, she picked up the Adder's Fork, carefully broke the forked end in two and added the pieces to the pomegranate juice. Another incantation. The Shack groaned. The flames on the candles fluttered. Hesitating, she picked up the silver knife. Holding her arm over the container, she squeezed her eyes shut. The knife sliding over her skin gave a burning sensation, and she gasped. This part of the incantation was harder to get out as tears streamed down her face from the pain. The knife made a clanging sound when she dropped it on the floor, and she spoke a quick healing charm to close the cut on her forearm.

She peered down into the container. The mixture was a deep blood red with a pearly sheen. Just like the book had said. Something akin to hope blossomed inside her. This could actually work.

Picking up the container with one hand, she raised her wand with the other. Only one thing left to do, then the ritual would be complete.

Channelling her magic, Hermione gripped her wand tighter and spoke the final incantation. A magical force field slowly materialised from her wand, enveloping her and the frock coat on the floor. She felt the magic go through her, test her. It burnt like a thousand needles all over her skin. Gritting her teeth, she waited for the force field to fully enclose them.

Then she threw the contents of the container on the frock coat and shouted, “Eum transire!”

The force field exploded, sending her flying back. Trying to catch her breath, she blinked slowly. Fabric rustled against the floor. She stopped breathing. Hermione sat up slowly, heart thudding fast.

Where she had placed the frock coat lay a thin figure crumpled. All she could see was black; black boots, black trousers, black robes, black hair. Then white. White hands taking grip on the floor and heaving the body up to a kneeling position. The black hair swung as his head turned, and she found herself staring into Severus Snape's black eyes.

It had worked.

Her mouth opened, then closed again. She cleared her throat, then managed to croak out, “Welcome back, Professor.”

His eyes left hers, slid around the room before fastening on the still bloody knife, the chalk and the book. His eyes snapped back to hers.

Then he snarled, showing crooked yellow teeth. “What the devil have you done?”


	2. Part Two

The Shrieking Shack closed in around her. The air was still crackling with magic, the smell of blood and something putrid hung in the air. Shakily, Snape rose to his feet in front of her. Had he always been that tall?

“Are...” Hermione began, but her voice broke. Clearing her throat, she tried again. “Are you all right, sir?”

He raised a pale hand to his throat, and he seemed surprised it did not come away covered in blood. His eyes widened slightly.

“Sir?”

His head whipped towards her, black hair flying around his face. In two long strides, he was in front of her. Grasping the neck of her robes, he tugged her face close to his. His sour breath washed over her, but she didn't dare look away. Black eyes searched hers, thin lips curling over yellow teeth.

“Tell no one,” he murmured.

His voice made Hermione's skin crawl. Then he pushed her away from him, hard. She shrieked, preparing to meet the floor.

Her eyes snapped open, the scream already dying in her throat. Rolling onto her back, she sighed and ran her hands over her face. It had just been a dream. Only it wasn't. It had been years since she dreamt of that night in the Shrieking Shack when she brought Severus Snape back to life.

A sliver of sunlight had found its way between the window and the blinds and directly into Hermione's eyes. Groaning, she sat and stretched. She swung her legs over the side of the bed and stood. Her feet made no sound as she padded over to the window and pulled up the blinds. She was met with sunny blue skies, an abundance of gum trees, and the Brisbane skyline stretching out in the distance.

Hermione got ready for work on autopilot; her mind still on the dream – well, memory, really. After pushing her to the ground, Snape had staggered towards the boarded-up door. She had been too shocked to call out or follow him and had merely looked on as he pulled the door open and disappeared into the night. It had taken several minutes for her legs to stop shaking enough so she could rise and gather her belongings. Crawling back through the tunnel, she had been expecting the castle to be in an uproar with the appearance of the late Potions Master. But there had been none. Wherever Snape had gone to, it wasn't the castle. For months afterwards, she kept looking around every corner for billowing black robes. She had even contacted Kingsley, asking vaguely worded questions which he couldn't answer. Once spring had arrived she'd had to accept that Snape wouldn't make himself known. She had brought him back into a world he wanted no part of.

Sheathing her wand, Hermione put on her trainers and left the flat. The sun warmed her skin as she stepped outside. She would never get used to the flipped seasons in the southern hemisphere, though early August in Brisbane was still warmer than summertime in Scotland. After graduating from Hogwarts – with O's in seven NEWTS – she had applied to study Charms and Arithmancy at the Magical Institute of Brisbane. When she announced her move, Harry and Ron had been upset but understanding.

Moving continents and starting university had been a strange experience; Australia had been untouched by the war, and besides a few raised eyebrows at hearing she was from the UK, no one seemed to know who she was. It suited her just fine.

Hermione pushed the door open to a small coffee shop and smiled at the man behind the counter. “Morning, Hayden.”

He smiled back, showing a row of white teeth. “Morning, Hermione! The usual?”

“Yes, please.”

The Bean & Go café was – similarly to the Leaky Cauldron – a portal between the Muggle and magical communities. That was where the similarities ended though, as the café was all light woods and greenery. Coffee in hand, she went towards the back and through a door with the sign 'STAFF ONLY'. On the other side was an open square with benches and trees swaying slightly in the breeze. Facades of glass and modern lines lined the square, and Hermione steered her steps towards a one-storey buildingwedged between two taller ones.

She had been working as the Arithmancer for a private research company for the past four years. Her main motivation for studying Charms and Arithmancy had been to reverse the memory charm she had placed on her parents. She had been successful in restoring their memories, but the emotional bond had never reformed. They were on Christmas card terms now, and Hermione had come to term with it a long time ago.

Going into work, she greeted her colleagues and went into the small office she shared with another of the junior Arithmancers. Seeing that she was the first to arrive, Hermione sat at her desk and took out a small blackboard from the desk drawer.

It had been tempting over the years to do calculations regarding Snape, but she hadn't dared. With the reoccurrence of the nightmares though, she had to look. Doing the calculation, she pulled up his line. It was a deep blue, and as she followed it her brow furrowed.

What in the name of Circe was going on?

–

As she got home from work, Hermione put her feet on the coffee table, leant her head on the back of the sofa and sighed. Something was very wrong.

What could the calculations mean? She had tried everything, but there was no explanation for Snape's line suddenly ending. Unless...

Sitting up, she pulled up her own line. She had avoided doing this so far; doing Arithmetic calculations on oneself was always a gamble. Looking at her line – which was a pale yellow - she frowned. Just like Snape's, it just stopped. She did the numbers again, with the same results.

What if...

Pulling up a new calculation with their lines side by side, she changed her line to merge with Snape's. She gasped. The lines turned a silvery colour where they merged and they continued on, still merged.

She needed to find Snape.

–

That proved easier said than done, and as the weeks passed Hermione grew more desperate. She now did their calculations daily, with the same result. Unless she found Snape, they would both die. She had narrowed the calculations for the end of their lines down to Halloween. Of course, it would be on Halloween.

Desperate for any leads about Snape's whereabouts, she swallowed her pride and sent an owl to Canberra, where the Australian Ministry of Magic was located. A week later came the reply, with nothing written in the letter but a time and a place.

The next day, she Apparated to a park in Melbourne. Even though she was five minutes early, her companion was already waiting for her.

Jonathan gave her a once over. “You cut your hair.”

Hermione touched the curls that now rested just above her shoulders. “That was years ago.”

He shrugged. “I haven't seen you in years, Hermione. It looks good though. More manageable. Your hair always tried to strangle me when we were -”

“I didn't come here to reminisce,” Hermione said sharply. “Do you have information for me or not?”

“I do.” He pulled out a folder from the pocket of his light coloured robes. “I have to admit I'm curious about what prompted you to reach out, but I learnt not to ask questions long ago.”

Hermione took the proffered folder. “That's because you're a smart man.”

He grinned and ran a hand through his dark hair. “So I've been told. How've you been?”

“I'm sorry, but I can't stay.”

He sighed. “I'm not surprised. I won't take up any more of your time, then.” He paused. “I truly hope that you find whatever it is you're looking for and that you'll find some peace.”

Before she could answer, he Disapparated.

She sighed. It was hard to think they'd loved each other once. Well, he had loved her. She had...been fond of him. Which was one of the reasons they didn't last; her incapability to let him in. Jonathan had been her first and last serious relationship. Second, if you counted those disastrous weeks she and Ron tried to be a couple, which she didn't.

Shaking herself from that trip down memory lane, Hermione Apparated back to her flat and opened the folder.Reading what was inside, her brows raised. That changed things.

–

Hermione had to take three different Port Keys to get to the small New England town where Jonathan's information claimed Snape was residing. It was early evening when she arrived and the sun was starting to set, casting a golden light over the trees and houses she could see in the distance. Transfiguring her beaded bag into a backpack, she headed into town. The wind rustled the leaves, and Hermione shivered. Though she'd made sure to dress and pack appropriately, she was used to Australian climate, which was a lot warmer than autumn in New England.

Off the main road she found a small hotel surrounded by large oak and maple trees. She was handed the key to a room on the first floor, and she thanked the woman behind the reception desk before ascending the rickety staircase.

The room itself was small but clean, and Hermione put her transfigured bag on the chair next to the door before sinking down on the bed. With a wave of her hand, she cancelled her glamour. She only tended to have it on while in public; otherwise there would be uncomfortable questions over why she had a racial slur cut into her arm. On her right arm she had another scar that was less noticeable but no less difficult to explain. Despite her healing charm, the cut she made for the ritual never healed properly. It had – once Ginny saw it – prompted a conversation with Madam Pomfrey and Professor McGonagall where she had to assure them she hadn't turned to self-harm to deal with her feelings.

She wasn't sure what her plan was now. According to Jonathan, Snape owned a used bookshop in the centre of town. She could probably find it – and Snape – right then if she wanted to, but a part of her brain told her to wait. Better to go in the morning.

After all, what would she say to a man she brought back from the dead and hadn't seen for a decade?

–

When Hermione stepped out of the hotel the next morning, all she could see was red and yellow leaves and blue skies. Looking around, she found herself smiling. She loved autumn. The chilly air, the transformation of the foliage from green to shades of reds and oranges and yellows. It felt as if the world was on fire.

She stuck her hands in her pockets as she started walking. She had been up most of the night – Brisbane was fourteen hours ahead – but had managed to get in a few hours of sleep in the early hours of the morning, before the nightmare shook her awake. If she was going to deal with Severus Snape on only four hours of sleep, she needed caffeine.

Down the street from the hotel, Hermione spotted a coffee shop that looked to be open. The bell above the door chimed when she entered.

The man behind the register – seemingly the only one in the shop – lit up in a bright smile. “Good morning! What can I get you?”

She approached the register. “Can I get an americano to go, please?”

“Coming right up.” He started on her drink. “Are you British?” When Hermione nodded, he chuckled. “I thought I heard so. I don't have an ear for accents though, I get confused with the English and the Irish and the Australian. Are you in town for the literary festival?”

Hermione had read about the town's famous literary festival – and not so secretly hoped there would be time between saving her and Snape's lives to have a wander around. “I am.”

“I hope you don't take offence, but you look like the type.” He poured her coffee in a disposable cup. “There's a really good used bookstore over on Elliot Street run by an English guy; you should check it out.”

Her pulse quickened. That must be Snape.

After Hermione paid for her coffee, she got directions to the bookshop and went on her way. The walk into the town centre – which was just a long main street – didn't take more than a few minutes. There weren't many people around, and with Hermione being used to both London and the bustling Brisbane, that felt odd. The town was very pretty, though, and reminded her of watching _Murder, She Wrote_ as a child.

Sipping her coffee, she tried to plan what she was going to say once she saw Snape. Maybe it wasn't such a good idea to just go into his workplace; it wasn't very Slytherin of her. It would probably have been best if she had kept her eye on him for a few days before approaching. Of course, if he was anything like he used to be he would sniff her out in a minute and all her sneaking would be for naught.

Her coffee was almost gone when she saw the white hanging sign with 'BOOKS' in large green lettering in the distance. A flag stating the business was open rippled in the breeze. Hermione stopped, looking across the street at the building where she would most likely find Snape. It was a one-storey building with dark wood siding and panelled windows. It looked exactly like the kind of place she could lose an afternoon just browsing through the books.

Tossing her cup in a bin by the road, she ran her hand over her mouth and did a Freshening Up spell. She had got quite proficient with non-verbal and wandless magic, and coffee-breath was nobody's friend. She knew she couldn't keep standing staring at the building without someone noticing, so she took a deep breath and crossed the street with semi-confident steps.

There was no bell above the door announcing her entrance. The shop itself was on the small side, with worn wood floors and books on practically every surface. It was very warm and cosy, and it almost felt like walking into a hug. As she looked around, she heard a small trill and glanced down. A pretty tortoiseshell cat with amber eyes and fluffy fur blinked up at her.

Hermione smiled. “Oh, hello.”

The cat trilled again and rubbed its face against Hermione's jeans. Crouching, Hermione drew her hand over the cat's back. She could both hear and feel the purr, and she chuckled when the cat tried to climb into her lap.

“You're friendly. Are you here by yourself?”

She was so distracted by the friendly cat that she didn't hear the approaching footsteps.

“I'm sorry, is she bothering you?”

That voice. She had heard it practically every day for six years, and even though it had been a decade since she heard it last, it still had some sort of Pavlovian response on her.

Standing, Hermione came face to face with Severus Snape. “Good day, Professor,” she said.

She only had a few seconds to note that he looked remarkably similar to when she saw him last – bar some streaks of silver in his black hair – before she found herself dragged through an open doorway on her left that she hadn't noticed.

They were in a small office – his, by the look of it – and she felt the Muffliato cut through the air as the door closed behind them.

“What the fuck are you doing here?” he snarled. Offhandedly, she noticed his teeth looked much better than they used to. Good for him.

“I need to talk to you.”

“No. Get out.”

She raised her eyebrows. “You brought me into your office just to tell me to get out?”

Snape's jaw clenched. “I brought you in here so I wouldn't Avada you on the spot and expose myself as a wizard to my customers and employees. Now that I've succeeded in doing so, I can tell you to bugger off.”

Hermione leant against the desk. “I'm not one of your students anymore, Snape, and you don't frighten me. I wouldn't be here unless it was important.”

“I don't particularly care what you have to say.”

There was a scratching sound on the door and a loud meow that told everyone that the cat was _not_ pleased. Snape swore under his breath and reached behind him to open the door slightly. The tortoiseshell cat entered and butted its head against Snape's boot.

“Damn cat,” he scowled, closing the door.

The cat had spotted Hermione, and it jumped up on the desk to rub against her sleeve. Hermione scratched the cat's chin.

“I think he likes me.”

“It's a she. And she did always have a piss-poor judgement in people.” Snape glowered at the cat as if he was offended it had taken a liking to Hermione.

“What's her name?” Hermione asked, trying to stop the cat from licking her eyelashes.

“Minnie,” came the reply, spoken through clenched teeth.

Hermione looked at him, surprised.

He rolled his eyes. “ _I_ didn't name her, trust me.” Then he seemed to catch himself, and shook his head. “What I did or did not name my cat is irrelevant. I want you gone.”

Hermione dropped her hand from Minnie's back. “And I told you, I can't do that. I've been having dreams, well nightmares really, about that night in the Shack. When I brought you back. You've had them too, haven't you?”

Snape's eyebrow rose and he gave her such a look she half expected him to tell her that her potion was subpar and to take 5 points from Gryffindor. “You've tracked me down after a decade to ask how I'm sleeping?” his voice was dangerously soft. “Of all the imbecilic, arrogant dolts I've had the misfortune of meeting, you are the worst.” Reaching out, he picked up Minnie – who yowled in protest of not being the centre of attention – and scowled. His threatening aura was somewhat lessened by Minnie rubbing her face on his chin. “I want you out of my shop and out of this town. Go back to wherever you're living now and leave me the fuck alone.”

He threw open the door, the Muffliato cancelled. It was a clear sign that he thought the conversation over.

Hermione pushed herself off the desk. “I'm not going to do that. When you're ready to talk, I'm staying at the Whetstone, room 114.” She stopped in the doorway. “I know you can feel it; death breathing down your neck. Soon it'll be too late.”

She stepped back out into the sunshine, which felt a little cooler than it had previously.


	3. Part Three

The Shrieking Shack closed in around her. The air was still crackling with magic, the smell of blood and something putrid hung in the air. Shakily, Snape rose to his feet in front of her.

Hermione frowned. She knew this scenario. It wasn't a dream; it was a memory. She needed to wake up. Her skin prickled. Something was wrong.

Snape made a gurgling noise and raised his hand to his throat.

Horror filled her as blood oozed from between his fingers. This wasn't the way it usually went. His wide eyes met hers, and he took a staggering step forwards. Hermione met him halfway. Her hands covered his, pressing against the gaping wound. Warm blood spilt over her hands, ran down her arms and coloured the sleeves of her shirt red. She knew it was a nightmare; this had never happened, but she couldn't help herself.

“Look at me,” he wheezed.

Her panicked eyes left their stacked hands and met his. His face was twisted in pain, and blood seeped of his eyes and nose. Hermione squeezed her eyes shut. She couldn't do this, couldn't watch him die again. She could feel – and smell – Snape's blood on her skin, running down her arms. She needed to wake up. This was only a dream.

“Hermione.” Her name was spoken in a whisper.

Her eyes opened, his face blurry through her tears.

The gentle smile looked wrong on his face. “You can't save me.” He lifted their hands, and the blood oozed faster. He placed a bloody hand on her face, the caress intimate.

Hermione's eyes snapped open, the blurred ceiling of her hotel room coming into view. There was something wet on her face. Reaching up, her stomach lurched as she imagined her fingers coming away stained with blood – Snape's blood. The liquid on them was clear, though, and she realised she was crying. She let out a frustrated huff as she wiped away the tears. She sincerely hoped the dream wasn't some sort of premonition.

It had been three days since she confronted Snape, and she hadn't seen him since. She didn't think their meeting had gone too badly – at least he hadn't hexed her – but he couldn't keep avoiding her. Halloween was barely three weeks away, which didn't feel like enough time to get Snape to talk to her and figure out how to stop them both dying. Maybe she could risk going back to the bookshop since the tactic of letting him come to her clearly wasn't working.

After casting a quick Tempus – which showed it was barely six o'clock - Hermione stayed in bed for a few minutes longer before stumbling into the bathroom. She put the temperature to almost scalding, hoping the water would rinse away the feeling of Snape's blood still on her body. Forty minutes later she exited the shower feeling slightly more awake and no longer with the scent of blood in her nose. 

The weather was still showing off autumn in the best way, and leaves crunched underneath Hermione's feet as she walked towards the coffee shop down the street to get breakfast. The owner – whose name she'd learnt was Richard – seemed to have taken a liking to her and kept trying to give her a discount on her breakfast. Yesterday she had accepted it but put two extra dollars in the tip jar by the counter.

“Good morning, Hermione,” he smiled as she entered the establishment. “You're early today. Jet lag's still keeping you up, huh?”

Hermione smiled slightly. “It is. I've heard it gets better, though.”

“Take a seat, and I'll fix your order. Same thing as yesterday?”

“Yes, please.”

Removing her jacket and scarf, Hermione took a seat by the window. The sun had just risen fully, making the frost on the trees and parked cars glitter in the morning light. A few minutes later Richard came out with her breakfast and coffee, and she smiled before tucking in. In the distance was the outline of a dark figure on the sidewalk. She kept her gaze on the figure as it approached; recognising it as Snape straight away, even dressed in Muggle clothing. The black coat didn't look too dissimilar to the billowing cloak he had favoured back when he was still her teacher, though this Muggle equivalent didn't have the same flounce.

She was expecting him to walk past the window and go on his merry way. Then their eyes met through the window. Hermione froze. Snape halted. Then he started walking, and Hermione slumped slightly in her chair.

Then the bell above the door chimed.

“Ah, good morning, Mr Snape,” Richard said pleasantly. “What can I get you?”

“And to you, Mr Thurber. An americano, please.”

Hermione, whose back was to the counter, felt a strange satisfaction that they weren't on a first-name basis.

“Coming right up. Oh, I was meaning to ask; did that nice British Girl check out your store? She said she enjoyed books, so I sent her your way.”

“She stopped by, though I doubt she found anything she was looking for.”

Hermione rolled her eyes.

Richard chuckled. “I didn't think that was possible, with the number of books you have. Here's your coffee, Mr Snape.”

Hermione was surprised when Snape approached her table.

He glowered at her. “What are you doing here?” It was less of a question and more of a demand.

“Having breakfast. What about you? I find it hard to believe this is your normal stop for coffee.”

Snape snorted. “Believe what you will.”

Taking a chance, she gestured to the empty seat across from her. “Won't you sit?”

She was surprised when Snape actually did. Deciding to tread lightly, she continued eating while Snape stared out the window.

It was several minutes until either of them spoke.

“What are you really doing here?” Hermione asked.

His brow raised. “Getting coffee.”

She rolled her eyes. “And you choosing a coffee shop around the corner from my hotel is pure coincidence?”

“Your hotel is around the corner? I had no idea.”

Hermione chuckled and sipped her coffee. “Should I take that you're voluntarily conversing with me as a sign you're ready to listen?”

He tilted his head. “I am, let us say intrigued, by whatever far-fetched theory you have to present to me. When you're finished, come by the shop.” The chair scraped against the floor when he stood. “And do try to hurry up, I haven't got all day.”

Hermione had half a mind to dawdle to spite him but decided against it. Like it or not, they needed to try to get along.

-

“Are you quite done?”

Hermione looked away from the second edition of Dracula she was flipping through. She had taken full advantage of the closed shop to browse, with Minnie on her heels headbutting her legs. It wasn't at all surprising that the shop had an excellent selection; Snape didn't do things halfway. “Pardon?”

Snape leant against the wall, arms crossed over his chest. “I was under the impression you had something of importance to discuss with me, and I don't think it's the threat of female sexual expression.”

She closed the book with a shrug. “I'd be happy to discuss that, but perhaps not right now. Can we sit?”

Snape pushed off the wall and gestured for her to follow him. He brought her back into the office where they had conversed days prior. He took the seat behind the desk, and Hermione resisted the urge to roll her eyes. It was such an obvious move to establish dominance. With a flick of her wand, she transfigured the plain wood chair on the other side of the desk into a comfy armchair.

Sitting, she crossed her legs. “I don't suppose I could trouble you for a cup of tea?”

He glowered. “Don't push it. You wanted to talk. Talk.”

There were plenty of questions Hermione wanted to ask, and she surprised herself when she opened with, “What made you settle here?”

Snape shrugged. “Why not?”

She tried to reign in her frustration. She took a deep breath. “All right. When did your nightmares start again?”

“You're assuming they ever stopped.”

She slammed her hand down on the armrest, startling Minnie who had curled up on the edge of Snape's desk. “Stop being obtuse, you berk. This is important.”

He had the audacity to look amused. “Is it? So far you've given me nothing else but an inquiry of my sleeping habits and my place of residence. Are you a Gryffindor or not, Granger? Subtlety doesn't suit you.”

“Forgive me for opting not to open a conversation after a decade with 'Hello, how have you been? Oh, just so you know, you're going to die soon.'”

Snape's brow furrowed. “What are you on about?”

Hermione exhaled shakily. “I started having nightmares about that night in the Shrieking Shack about a month ago. I did the Arithmantic calculations, and unless we do something by Halloween we'll both be dead.”

He couldn't quite hide the surprise in his eyes. “Explain yourself,” he barked.

She sighed. “It'll be easier if I show you.” She walked around the desk – running her hand over Minnie's back doing so – and brought up his Arithmantic line. “See here, where it stops?” she pointed at the fizzling out of the blue line. “This is on Halloween. Mine look the same.” Waving the line away, she instead brought up their joined one. “This is the one I calculated after deciding I needed to find you. The lines continue, but they are still hazy. And this one,” she brought up the final line, which she had calculated shortly after their first meeting, “is with us doing the ritual on Halloween.” Their combined lines shone brighter than their separate had, the silver glow almost blinding. She tore her eyes away from the lines to Snape.

He was fixed on the line, mouth slightly open. At length, he spoke. “I need a drink.”

–

They ended up in a bar, though it wasn't even noon.

Snape directed Hermione to a table half-secluded behind the pool table and went to give their orders. The bar was small and slightly shabby, reminiscent of the ones she recalled seeing in movies, with neon lights and sticky floor.

When Snape returned he placed two tumblers of amber liquid, though hers was topped with foam, a cherry and an orange slice. He sat across from her, and their legs bumped as he got comfortable.

Raising his glass, he gave a mock toast. “To our health.”

Hermione sipped her drink. The heat from the bourbon warmed her insides going down. With a wave of her hand, she cast a Muffliato and a Notice-Me-Not charm, though the bar was nearly empty. They drank in silence, and Hermione took the opportunity to study the former Potions Master. Compared to the last time she'd seen him – having just been raised from the dead – he looked amazing. He was still thin and hook nosed, but his face was less harsh than she remembered and he looked healthy. His hair – still worn long – was streaked with silver, and she found it suited him. Doing some quick maths, she was surprised to realise he was barely fifty. He had always seemed old and weary when she was still at school, but he hadn't been much older than she was now.

“Are you quite done?” His eyebrow was raised, but he looked more amused than bothered by her scrutiny.

“I am,” she said, taking another sip of her drink. “Have you settled into the notion that we're weeks away from possibly dying?”

“Perhaps after another drink.”

Hermione chuckled and leant her chin on her palm. “I would advise against that until we've figured out the ritual.”

A hint of a smile tugged at his lips. “Spoilsport.”

She rolled her eyes.

–

Snape led her back to the bookshop – which had opened for business since their departing – and into the office. He produced a pot of tea and biscuits and steepled his long fingers together.

“Tell me about the ritual you used to bring me back.”

Hermione rummaged through her beaded bag and pulled out Secrets of the Darkest Art. She hadn't so much as opened it in the ten years since she had hastily stuffed it into the bag following Snape's resurrection. 

She placed it on the desk, then sat back. The alcohol had made her warm and slightly less tolerant of any bullshit Snape would try to pull.

“The ritual is on page 589, if I recall correctly.”

Watching him watch the book, she didn't miss the slight tremor in his hand as he reached for the volume. His hand made contact with the leather, and Hermione half-expected something to happen. But it didn't. Snape slid the volume closer to him.

“Might I relieve you of this for a few hours?” he asked, eyes still on the book.

Hermione nodded. “Of course.” She'd sprung a lot on him today, and while she'd had plenty of time to reconcile with the notion of dying, he hadn't.

–

Snape instructed Hermione to return to the bookshop at seven o'clock that evening, giving him a few hours to look through the book.

Hermione spent the rest of the day not doing much; she had explored much of what the town had to offer the previous days and she didn't want to risk Apparating anywhere without more knowledge of the area.

After a long nap that thankfully didn't include any nightmares – memory-based or otherwise – she showered and changed clothes before heading out. It was dark out, a chilly wind rustling the leaves on the trees and the ground. Hermione tugged her scarf closer to her face and quickened her pace. A fine mist hung in the air, making the air around the street lights hazy.

As she crossed the street, the hairs of the back of her neck prickled. Was someone watching her? The church bell chimed, and she breathed a sigh of relief when the bookshop came into view.

Snape was leaning against the door, hands in the pockets of his black coat. A dark coloured scarf hid most of his face from her view.

“Have you eaten?” he asked when she was close enough for conversation.

“I haven't.”

He rolled his eyes. “Follow me.”

Hermione followed him into a narrow alleyway between the bookshop and the next building over. There he stopped and held out his arm.

“Where are we going?”

“Since neither one of us has eaten and the subjects we're about to discuss are of a sensitive nature, I thought it best we went somewhere private.”

Her brows raised in surprise. “Your house?”

He nodded. “I have extensive wards, so to allow you entry I must take you Side-Along. Is that acceptable?”

Hermione grabbed his arm. The wool was scratchy underneath her fingers. “Yes.”

–

They materialised in an entrance hall with dark wood panelling and an L-shaped staircase going up to the first floor. Hanging her coat and scarf on the metal coat rack by the door, she followed him into a sitting room. Two of the walls were lined fully with bookcases, while the other two were taken over by a fireplace and large windows. Two dark sofas took up most of the floor space, but it was difficult in the low light to see if they were blue or black. 

There was a chirp and the sound of small paws against the wood floors. Minnie appeared from an open doorway on the other side of the room, trotting towards them.

Hermione smiled and crouched down. “Hi, pretty girl.”

Minnie immediately jumped up in Hermione's lap, and she wrapped her arms around the cat before standing. Minnie purred and bumped her hair against Hermione's chin. She met Snape's eyes – who looked amused – and raised her brows, daring him to say anything.

He snorted. “Come on, let's eat. I'd prefer not to discuss my imminent death on an empty stomach.”

She wasn't at all surprised Snape turned out to be an excellent chef. She sat at the kitchen table – Minnie half asleep and purring loudly in her lap – as he made them a simple dinner.

After dinner they went back into the sitting room, and Snape placed the book on the coffee table.

Hermione sipped her wine. The sofa – which turned out to be a deep navy – was as comfortable as it looked.

“I found the ritual we need to perform,” he said matter-of-factly, twirling his wine glass. The flames from the fireplace reflected in the crimson liquid, the shapes almost mesmerizing.

Hermione's hand stilled on Minnie's back. “You did?” After a small protesting meow, she began moving her hand again. “How?”

He rolled his eyes. “I checked the book, Granger. It told me everything I needed to know, including the reason why the ritual is necessary.”

Unease settled in Hermione's stomach. While she hadn't read the book in ten years, she was sure there hadn't been anything in there about another ritual. She would like to think she wouldn't have done the ritual if there had been. “Which is?”

“You managed something there is no record of; a successful resurrection where the subject came back fully as themselves with no cognitive or bodily abnormalities. Frankly it was a fluke, and you are lucky you didn't raise an Inferi instead.” He sighed. “The point is, Death doesn't like giving up what's rightfully theirs. They allowed our lives to continue, for a while, but now it's time to pay what is owed.”

Hermione pondered his words. “So we do the ritual and hope Death shows us mercy? We won't know if it'll work until we do it?”

“Correct. The Arithmantic calculation you showed me gives me some hope the ritual will be successful, but we cannot know for certain.”

Hermione bit her lip. “I was thinking the same thing. Arithmancy can't predict the future, after all. I assume this ritual must be done on Halloween?”

Snape nodded. “It must be done on the same day and time as the original ritual. It also requires the use of the same ingredients as the resurrection ritual. Do you have the personal item of mine you used last time?”

Hermione nodded. Snape's cloak had – along with the book – stayed at the bottom of her beaded bag since that night.

Minnie sat up and stretched, burying her claws in Hermione's thigh before walking across the sofa and into Snape's lap. She trilled and bumped her head against his hand.

Snape stroked her back absent-mindedly. “Let's hope it works,” he said, looking away from Hermione and into the fire. “Contrary to what you may think, I've found I don't particularly want to die.”

Hermione wasn't sure what to say to that, so she settled for sipping her wine.


	4. Part Four

The Shrieking Shack closed in around her. The air was still crackling with magic, the smell of blood and something putrid hung in the air. Shakily, Snape rose to his feet in front of her.

Dread filled Hermione's body. No, no, no. This couldn't be happening again. This dream, this memory. She needed to wake up.

Right on cue, Snape raised his hand to his throat.

Even though she knew this wasn't real, that Snape was – hopefully – sound asleep in his bed and not bleeding out in front of her, she couldn't stop herself. She sprang forwards, pressing her hands over his to quench the bleeding. Her skin became warm and slippery with his blood.

“Look at me,” he wheezed.

She grit her teeth. “I will not, you prick. You're not dying, and that's final.”

“Hermione,” he whispered.

Knowing she would regret it, she raised her eyes to his. Blood leaked from his eyes and nose, seeping into his mouth as he smiled gently.

“You can't save us.”

She froze. That wasn't right.

She didn't even flinch when he raised a blood-stained hand to touch her cheek.

Hermione's eyes snapped open. Sunlight streamed through the window; she'd forgotten to close the blinds last night. Sitting, she swung her legs over the edge of the bed and ran her hands over her face. She'd had that same nightmare for four nights now. Only that time it was different.

You can't save us.

He had never said us before, it had always been me.

A shudder ran through her. She wasn't too keen on finding out what it meant.

Something fairly small and silvery burst through her wall, and her wand was out in a second. The rook Patronus flew around the room twice, then perched on the chair by the desk. Her wand lowered. There was only one person that Patronus could belong to.

The rook opened its beak. “Granger,” came Snape's silky voice, “I hope you're lying injured in a ditch somewhere, since you are not at the shop. I never took you for not keeping your promises.”

The Patronus, having delivered its message, dissolved in a silvery mist.

Hermione glanced at the alarm clock on the bedside table. The neon numbers seemed to mock her as they stated it was 9:52 am. She was supposed to be at the bookshop twenty minutes ago. She flew out of bed, scrambling around the room to find clean underwear and her bag.

Ten minutes later she rushed through the door at the bookshop, breathing heavily. As usual, Minnie came up to say hello and was given a quick scratch and a stroke before Hermione pulled off her coat. She spotted Snape further into the shop, talking to a customer. He'd pulled his hair back at the nape of his neck, and the sleeves of his jumper were pushed up. As if noticing her watching, he turned his head in her direction. Something tingled through Hermione's body, and it took her a second to identify it.

Attraction. Desire.

Oh gods, she wanted to shag Snape.

-

The Literary Festival that Richard from the coffee shop had asked her about on her first morning was starting that weekend, and Hermione felt no guilt in her excitement of the event. If she was to die soon, she deserved to feel excited about books before she did. Sipping tea in Snape's office, she looked over the programme for the weekend; there were so many things she wanted to check out.

“Anything interesting catch your eye?”

She looked up. Snape was leaning against the doorway, hands in his trouser pockets. From the angle of his forearm, she could see the faint outline of the Dark Mark. The newfound realisation that she desired him coursed through her veins, but she decided to ignore it. It wouldn't do anyone any good.

“Plenty. Do you have time to go to any seminars?”

Snape nodded. “A few. My employees can handle the shop when I'm not here.”

Hermione handed him the programme. “Which ones are you interested in? We can go together.”

Snape snorted. “And subject me to you waving your hand like an eager first-year? I think not.”

She rolled her eyes. “Just tell me which ones you're interested in, Snape.”

-

They went to several talks and seminars together that weekend, and Hermione found she enjoyed Snape's company very much. He had a dry humour and would offer commentary during the talks which had her biting her lip to keep from laughing. Several times she caught him looking at her appreciatively.

There were moments when she forgot what was lying ahead – that it was likely they had less than two weeks left on his earth. The nightmares wouldn't let her forget though, wrecking through her body and leaving her in tears and cold sweats.

On Sunday afternoon – the last day of the festival – three talks were due to take place in Snape's bookshop and Hermione arrived early, having promised to help set up. She and Snape were arranging the folding chairs when he cleared his throat.

“I was wondering if I could treat you to dinner tonight, as a thank you for your help.” He didn't look at her as he spoke, instead focusing on the chair he was setting up.

Hermione's stomach fluttered. “I'd like that.”

-

She felt strangely nervous getting ready for dinner, and she wasn't sure why. It wasn't as though he'd propositioned her. Still, she applied a bit more makeup than usual and wore an outfit that made her feel both sophisticated and sexy. A spritz of perfume and she was ready to leave.

Arriving in Snape's entrance hall, her stomach clenched at Snape's appreciative gaze. She hadn't been imagining it; he was attracted to her too.

Dinner felt like foreplay, and later she couldn't recall anything but the way Snape's eyes glittered in the low light and her skin seemed to buzz. After dinner, they retired to the sitting room.

She felt warm, and she wasn't sure she could blame the wine. Before she could second guess herself, she reached out to tuck his hair behind his ear. Her fingers lingered on the side of his face, the stubble rough against her skin.

“Are you sure you know what you're doing?” Snape's voice was low and silky and went straight to her core.

“I am.” Emboldened, Hermione put her glass on the coffee table and sat up fully before throwing a leg over his hips. Now straddling him on the plush sofa, she tucked her hair behind her ears so she could see him properly.

At first he didn't move, only gazed at her with dark eyes that seemed to bore into her. Then his hands gripped her thighs, sliding up to cup her arse and pulling her towards him. “I don't play games.” He punctuated his words with a roll of his hips against hers.

Hermione moaned at feeling his hardness against her. “Neither do I. If we're going to die, wouldn't you want to feel close to someone before you do?”

“What happened to the Gryffindor optimism?” His hands ran up her back and around to brush against the underside of her breasts. “You didn't use to be this morose.”

Hermione reached for his hands, covering them with her own. “I grew up.” Rolling her hips, she delighted in the way his eyes clouded over with lust. She leant in closer, their noses brushing.

“I thought you didn't play games?” His breath washed over her as he spoke.

She tilted her head slightly, eyes darting down to his mouth. “I'm giving you the chance to say no.”

“And why would I do that?” His hands slid over her breasts, fingers moving over the neckline of her top to run underneath the fabric.

Hermione moaned. “Is that a yes?”

“Yes.”

His lips crashed against hers, and Hermione forgot how to breathe. Her fingers tangled in his hair, and she pressed her tongue against the seam of his lips. Her thighs squeezed around his hips. She was beyond aroused. Hands clenched and pulled, and soon they were both topless. Hermione's mouth fell open when he tasted her flesh for the first time, gasping for breath as her hips kept rolling against his. He was going to be the death of her.

Minutes later they were in his bed, though she couldn't recall how they got there. He pulled off her jeans, she kissed the scars on his throat. She pushed his trousers down over his hips, he stroked her wet centre. Once they were both naked, he settled between her hips and pushed against her.

“Still yes?” his face was flushed, voice tense with wanting.

She nodded, clawing at his back. “Yes, yes.”

Then he was inside her and her world shifted. Her legs rose around his waist, back arching. His breath was hot on her neck, a groan leaving his throat every time he withdrew and pushed back inside her. She dug her fingers into his back, feeling the rough texture of scars she hadn't yet seen, and wrapped the other arm around his head to keep his mouth on her neck. She shifted her hips, and her stomach tensed.

Everything narrowed to his skin sliding against hers, the feeling of being filled and surrounded and she couldn't believe how good he felt, his arms curling under her shoulders to anchor her as he thrust harder and she was getting closer and closer to shattering in a million pieces and she hoped he would keep her anchored when she did.

Her muscles tightened and spasmed, his name falling from her lips like a plea. She was still coming down when he tensed against her, teeth scraping against her neck as he pushed in sharply and then stilled.

Still panting, Hermione pressed her lips against the parts of his face she could reach. Shrugging her shoulder, she guided his chin up so she could kiss him. They shared breathless, open-mouthed kisses that gave her goosebumps. Hermione's legs uncurled, sliding down his thighs and rubbing against his calves.

Snape lifted off her slightly, and she shivered when the cool night air hit her sweaty skin. Opening her eyes, she found Snape looking at her. The low light cast most of his face in shadow so she couldn't read the look in his eyes.

There was a yowl and scratching on the door. Minnie was obviously not pleased with having been shut out.

Hermione chuckled.

“Damn cat,” Snape muttered, climbing off her and walking over to the door.

Hermione rose on her elbows, unashamedly checking out Snape's exposed arse. On his back were four evenly spaced scratches, pink against the paleness of his skin. She bit her lip.

Snape opened the door, and Minnie pranced into the room with her tail high in the air. She meowed, circled Snape's legs a few times and then left the room.

“I suppose we should be glad she didn't try to join us,” Hermione quipped.

Snape chuckled and turned to the bed, leaving the door open a few inches. “Unfortunately for her, I don't share.”

Hermione held his gaze. “Neither do I.”

His eyes glittered, and her core clenched in anticipation as he stalked towards the bed.

–

After round three that night they had collapsed breathlessly against the pillows, Hermione pushing her hair from her sweaty forehead. Before she could pluck up the courage to ask if he wanted her to leave, he had kissed her shoulder and asked her to stay. She had bit her lip and nodded (which had led to round four).

They didn't discuss it, but all they really had at that moment was each other. Hermione spent most of the days in his bookshop with Minnie on her lap, and the nights wrapped in Snape's arms. They went on long walks and had tea and proper English scones. Hermione tried to quench the realisation that she felt more at home after two weeks in New England than she did in ten years in Australia.

Exactly one week before Halloween, Snape Apparated them to Salem, which had a vibrant magical community. The entrance to the magical part of town was through a tiny shop selling herbs. It was a beautiful day, sunny and cold, and the magical side of town was so vast Hermione could barely take everything in. They browsed the shops and stalls and bought spicy mulled wine. Snape's hand didn't leave the small of her back as they steered through the crowds, which made her heart race, but it felt too intimate to reach for his hand.

Three hours later he had her bent over the back of his sofa, one hand gripping her hair as he whispered dirty things in her ear.

-

Drowsy, Hermione stuck her arms underneath the pillow and regarded Snape with hooded eyes. The room smelt of sex and sweat, and she was still feeling floaty from her orgasm. She tried not to think too much about the fact that Halloween was only three days away.

“What was it like?” she asked lightly. “Being dead?”

Snape stilled. The air suddenly became tense.

“I'm sorry,” she said quickly, “you don't have to-”

He placed a hand on her waist. “It was...quite strange, to tell the truth.” His thumb caressed her skin absent-mindedly. “I recall little of dying, only pain and fear and a sense of failure. Afterwards there was a sense of calm, of being at peace. The next thing I recall is being back in the Shack.” He shifted onto his side, leaning his head on his hand. “Why did you bring me back?”

“Honestly?” She shifted closer, the gap between them on the bed suddenly feeling too wide. “It was for a number of reasons. Mostly because your death was unfair and unnecessary. Of all the deaths from the war, I mourned yours the most, and it made me feel so guilty. Then there were the nightmares.” She paused, pulling her hand away from the pillow to tuck his hair behind his ear. He didn't flinch when she touched him. “I was desperate; nothing I tried got rid of the nightmares. I thought that even if I failed, at least I'd tried. I owed you – we owed you – that much.”

She couldn't read the emotion in his eyes, and she waited for him to speak with bated breath.

He leant in and kissed her softly. “I'm glad you did,” he said, the words vibrating against her lips. His mouth continued down her jaw and to her neck, and she let him roll her onto her back.

With a contented sigh, she tangled her fingers in his dark hair as his mouth wandered south. She was glad she had brought him back too.

-

Before Hermione was sufficiently ready, Halloween was upon them. She had fallen asleep wrapped tightly in Snape's arms and had been awoken several times during the night by his lips on her body. She had clung to him just as frantically, both trying to will the morning away.

“What time is it?” Hermione whispered, not lifting her head from Snape's chest. The sunlight was already streaming through a gap in the curtains, bathing the room in a golden light.

“Not the time to get up,” came his reply, rumbling through his chest and vibrating against her ear.

Chuckling, Hermione placed a kiss on his chest. “I never figured you to lie in.” Goosebumps broke out on her skin as his fingers ran up and down her back.

“There's a time and place for it.”

Leaning up, she pressed her lips against his and shifted position so she was straddling his hips. She felt his erection against her arse, and rolled her hips. She enjoyed the way his breath hitched and his fingers gripped her hips just a bit tighter. Lifting up, she guided him inside her. They both groaned when she sank down, and she tore her mouth from his to bite her lip. Would this be the last time she would be with him like this?

Bracing her hands on his chest, Hermione sat up fully. Her movements were still slow, and their breaths were loud in the quiet room. Eyes locking with his, she felt something clench around her heart. She couldn't do this. To know him, to have him, only for it to be ripped away? It was unbearable. Hermione closed her eyes, scared that she would start crying if she didn't. Her head fell back as her movements quickened. Then she felt his hand settle between her thighs, and she groaned. Her world narrowed to his fingers on her clit and him moving inside her. She was so close.

He groaned. “Hermione.”

She fell over the edge, body spasming and clenching around him and she gasped, “Severus.”

–

By the time early evening came, Hermione couldn't remember what they had done that day. She had moved out of the hotel and into Snape's house days earlier, after a pointed comment about wasting money on a room she didn't inhabit, and she packed up her belongings mechanically. She'd already written letters to Harry, Ron and her parents, due to be sent in the morning. Just in case. She was unsure how Snape had prepared for his probable demise; she hadn't wanted to ask.

Once the bookshop closed for the day they returned to his house. Minnie was being overly affectionate, and Hermione wondered if she couldn't feel the tension in the air.

“Have we got everything?” Hermione asked for the fifth time that day.

“We do,” Snape answered, tone even.

The hours until they could do the ritual seemed to drag by. At last, the bell chimed nine o'clock and Hermione and Snape left the house. The crescent moon offered little light as they Apparated to a clearing on the outskirts of town. A chilly wind rustled the leaves around them and found its way underneath Hermione's coat.

Severus erected several wards as she took out the contents of her beaded bag. Wards in place, Snape took his place next to her.

He looked at her with a desperation that chilled her. “Hermione, I-” his mouth closed, the nerve to speak seemingly lost.

Hermione grabbed his hand and squeezed it. “I know.” She cast a quick Tempus. “It's time.”

Snape prepared the ingredients in a small cauldron he'd brought, while Hermione drew the runes on the ground with her wand. His voice was almost lost to the wind as he spoke the incantations. The cloak was placed, and the candles were lit. Hermione bared her right forearm, and Snape did the same. She gasped as the knife sliced through her arm, and next to her Snape inhaled sharply. Their blood dripped into the cauldron.

“Are you ready?” she asked, casting a quick healing charm over them both.

Snape nodded, face pale. “Ready.”

Joining hands, they raised their wands together. Their voices mingled with the sound of the wind as they spoke the incantation. A magical force field emerged from their wands, slowly enveloping both them and the frock coat on the ground. Hermione closed her eyes, drawing strength from Snape's hand in her own. The magic shot through her, alighting every nerve ending of her body and making her whimper in pain. She squeezed Snape's hand tighter. Forcing her eyes open, she saw the force field fully enclose them.

As one, they threw the content of the cauldron on the frock coat before shouting, “Nos manere!”

The force field exploded, and Hermione knew no more.


	5. Epilogue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Halloween friends!
> 
> This is the final installment of my little spooktober fic. I've had so much fun writing and sharing this with all of you, so thank you for reading! As always, much thanks and love to my beta turtle_wexler and my alpha qdrew for being awesome.
> 
> Enjoy!
> 
> 👻🎃🦇

The Shrieking Shack closed in around her. The air was still crackling with magic, the smell of blood and something putrid hung in the air. Shakily, Severus rose to his feet in front of her.

Hermione couldn't move. Her chest tightened. Her skin was prickling and she couldn't breathe. She needed to get out.

Severus raised a hand to his throat, and blood started seeping from his fingers.

No, no, no, no, no. She squeezed her eyes painfully shut. This couldn't be happening again. Not now. She couldn't bear it.

A voice, at once familiar and foreign, wrapped over her. _Come back to me._

It wasn't real, it couldn't be. She choked down a sob.

Unseen arms, warm and strong, touched her face. _Hermione_ , it crooned. _Come back to me._

A feeling of security and love washed over her. She knew then everything would be all right.

Hermione's eyes opened slowly. The black nose and whiskers of a fluffy tortoiseshell cat was in her line of vision. The cat sniffed her face, meowed and licked her nose before jumping off the bed. Early morning sunlight streamed through the window, showing a light scattering of dust floating through the air.

Rubbing her eyes with her hand, Hermione stretched, though she was slightly hindered by the body wrapped around her back. The arm around her waist – pale with black hairs and long, sinewy fingers – tightened slightly as its owner awoke.

“Morning,” his voice was rough with sleep, and he placed a soft kiss on the back of her shoulder.

Pushing back into him, Hermione smiled. “Good morning.” Careful not to dislodge his arm, she turned around.

Severus' eyes were narrow black slits in his face, and even the deepest lines on his face were smoothed out. Faint stubble lined his cheeks and chin, his face relaxed. Her heart fluttered.

Shifting closer, Hermione pressed a soft kiss to his lips. He hummed against her mouth, arm encircling her waist and fingers tightening on her back. They kissed languidly, neither feeling the need to take things further. Warm tingles shot through her entire body.

It had been a year since that night in the woods where they bargainedwith Death. After the force field exploded, Hermione had truly expected Death to deny their request, and terror had wrecked her body. Then she came to with Severus' frantic voice in her ear. She had sat up, head still spinning and her ears ringing. Her entire body had ached, but she'd been alive. They both were. Clinging to each other on the ground, Hermione had cried.

“I've got you,” Severus had spoken lowly in her ear, voice thick with emotion.

In the days that followed, Hermione had run Arithmantic charts and checked their lines obsessively. She couldn't let herself believe Death had shown them mercy. In the end, she had to accept what their lines were showing: the ritual had worked. Death would not come for them.

Hermione pulled back from the kiss and reached to tuck his hair behind his ear. “I want breakfast.”

“Mm, I'm feeling a bit peckish myself,” Severus smirked, the back of his fingers brushing against her left nipple.

Hermione half-chuckled, half-moaned and pushed his hand away. “I meant actual food, you dolt.”

“Ah. How disappointing.” He kissed her swiftly. “Breakfast it is.”

Getting out of bed, Hermione put on her flannel dressing gown and went across the hallway to the bathroom. She heard Severus get dressed and walk downstairs, then Minnie's loud insistence of being fed. Once finished in the bathroom, she stuck her feet in the fuzzy slippers Severus insisted looked like two stuffed Pygmy Puffs strapped to her feet and headed downstairs.

Sunlight streamed through the front windows, casting a warm glow over the floor. The sitting room looked much bigger without any furniture. Next to the fireplace sat a shoebox which contained the shrunken contents of the sitting room. Two more were stacked on top, labelled 'office' and 'books'.

The kitchen was still largely unchanged, except for the empty shoebox on the corner counter with 'kitchen' written in Severus' spiky handwriting on the side. Hermione stroked Minnie's back but received no love back as the feline was busy eating.

“Have we got any juice left?” she asked, opening the cabinet next to the fridge and reaching up to grab two glasses.

Strong arms encircled her from behind, gently gripping her arms and bringing them back down. “Will you sit down, witch?”

Scoffing, Hermione leant back against his body. “I'm not some delicate flower, Severus. I'm pregnant, not an invalid.”

His hands splayed over her swollen stomach. “You still shouldn't strain yourself. Sit, I'll fix breakfast.”

Hermione had only started showing – rather than looking bloated – about two weeks ago, and it was the first time she actually felt it was real. A child was growing inside her. Doing a pregnancy charm at the end of summer and seeing the white light showing a positive result had been a shock; she and Severus hadn't discussed their attitudes towards children and she wasn't sure herself where she stood on the matter. Then she imagined a curly-haired toddler with large dark eyes bouncing around on Severus' lap – the rare smile she loved so much on his face – and she had realised she wanted that.

Fortunately, so did Severus.

Hermione huffed, twisting her head to kiss his cheek. “All right, I'll sit.”

**-**

The bookshop was almost all set for changing ownership, and Hermione chatted with one of the employees – a middle-aged woman called Marge – while Severus handed over the keys to the new owner.

“We'll be sorry to see you go,” Marge said with a motherly smile, “but I know the feeling of wanting to be close to home when you're expecting.”

“It will feel a bit strange,” Hermione admitted, hand resting on her small bump. “Neither of us have been back to the UK in a decade. I'm excited, though.”

Marge patted her hand. “I'm sure it'll all work out fine.”

The door to the office opened. “Hermione, are you ready?”

Saying goodbye to the people – and the shop – was more emotional than Hermione anticipated. She had spent so much time there in the last year, and it felt strange that she likely wouldn't ever see it again.

They left the shop, and Severus chuckled softly when she wiped at her eyes. “Are you all right, love?”

Her arm tightened around his waist. “I'm fine. Just hormones. Can we get a coffee before we go back home? And a brownie?”

They had argued plenty over Hermione's caffeine intake whilst pregnant, though Severus had to admit defeat in the end. No one got between Hermione Granger and her caffeine – not even him.

The coffee shop was another place that felt like home, even though Richard had retired several months ago. His daughter had taken over the business, and she was as friendly as her father.

Hermione all but moaned when she took the first sip of coffee. Heavenly. Next to her, Severus chuckled.

-

They spent the rest of the day packing their things, which was both harder and took longer than they anticipated, even with using magic.

“Harry is meeting us at the Ministry tomorrow,” Hermione said, pushing a frizzy strand of hair behind her ear. She was beyond comfortable, sunk down in a fragrant bath with tea light candles littered around the room. The door had been cat-proofed, as Minnie was too curious of the candles for her own good.

The water gently lapped over her body when Severus shifted, drawing her foot into his lap and scoffing. “Do you trust him not to make a scene?”

“I do.” She let out a small moan when he dug his fingers into the bottom of her foot.

Hermione had written to Harry as soon as they'd decided they were moving back to the UK, and before sharing anything she had requested his silence. Only after he agreed had she shared that Severus was alive, they were together and moving back to the UK. It had taken Harry a week to reply, which had been surprisingly civilised. She'd half-expected him to show up to yell at her.

“I don't,” Severus said. He continued kneading her foot, extending his ministrations to her calf.

“I'll protect you,” Hermione said, eyes fluttering closed. His hands felt good. She shrieked when he pulled her towards him, water splashing over the edge of the tub. “Severus!” Her eyes opened as he settled her into his lap, wet skin sliding against each other. Her hands settled on his shoulders, lightly gripping his skin. Underneath his wet hair glimpsed the white scars from Nagini's bite. She ran her finger over the textured skin feeling him shiver against her.

“Are you looking forward to moving back?” he asked, hands touching her waist and around to caress her stomach.

“I am,” Hermione smiled. “It probably won't be easy, explaining how you're alive and the such, but it's the right thing to do. We can't hide anymore, pretending to be people we're not.”

He hummed in reply, hands still moving over her skin.

“How do you feel about it?”

“I'm not worried. If anyone tries anything, I can just hex them.”

She rolled her eyes. “You can't just- oh!”

Severus had slid his hands up to cup her breasts, thumbs softly flicking her sensitive nipples. Her gasp turned into a moan, and she pressed her chest against his hands.

“Don't think you can try to distract me with sex,” she said firmly, her words losing their punch by her hips undulating against him.

“Are you saying no?” she could hear the smirk in his voice.

“No,” she whimpered, hand blindly reaching for him in the water. He turned rock solid once she started moving her hand up and down.

“So it's a yes?”

She nodded frantically. She would die if he didn't touch her soon. “Yes, Severus, yes.”

When he was finally inside her, she almost cried. Everything was so much more sensitive, and it only took a couple of thrusts for her to be right on the edge. Squeezing his hips with her knees, she moved faster. The hot water around them amplified the sensations on her skin and when he wrapped his lips around her nipple, she came.

She had barely caught her breath when another climax approached, and her grip on his shoulders tightened. Pregnancy had made her sensitive almost to the point of absurdity – something that Severus had taken full advantage of.

Burying her face in her neck as she came, Hermione clutched his shoulders. Her body shook against his, her moans echoing in the room.

Severus pressed kisses against the side of her face and neck. “You're so beautiful,” he murmured, voice strained. “I could watch you come all day.”

Hermione whimpered.

“Once more for me, love.”

Lifting her head from his neck, she kissed him fiercely. His hands on her hips guided her movements, pulling her against him faster and harder. The hairs on his chest rubbed against her sensitive nipples and before she knew it she was teetering on the edge again.

She pulled her mouth from his, drawing in deep breaths that didn't seem enough. His face was clouded with lust, eyes seemingly boring into hers. Then she was falling, shaking and whimpering his name and she felt him come as well, hands tightening on her hips and a growl leaving his throat.

Panting, Hermione rested her forehead against his. She chuckled. “You are going to be the death of me.”

He pushed her hair from her clammy forehead. “That was only three times. I'm planning to get you to double digits before we leave.”

Hermione whimpered. Sweet Circe.

-

Hermione looked around the empty bedroom. Her feelings were all mixed up - excitement and sadness battling for dominance. She wasn't sure which one would win. Everything they owned had been shrunk and packed into shoeboxes – which then had been shrunk and put into her beaded bag – the house was clean and waiting for the new owners to arrive in a few days. She would miss the house – miss teasing Severus about buying a house that was maroon and goldenrod, miss the way the sunlight would shine through the circular window in the office, miss sitting on the front porch with a book and a cup of tea.

“Hermione?” Severus called from downstairs, and Hermione tore herself from the room. After all, it was just a house. He was her home.

He was waiting for her on the bottom of the stairs, beaded bag in one hand and Minnie's carrier by his feet. Minnie was _not_ happy about having been stuffed into a carrier and was now sulking. An old metal alarm clock sat on the top of the carrier – the Portkey that would take them to the Ministry of Magic in London.

“Are you ready?”

Stepping down onto the floor, she smiled. “I am. Are you? You've been away from our world longer than I have.”

Severus shrugged. “I don't think I'll ever be fully ready. That doesn't mean I don't want to. It's a new chapter of my life – of our lives.”

Blinking back sudden tears, Hermione wrapped her arms around him. “I'm glad I'm sharing this with you.”

He pressed a kiss to her curls. “As am I. And if they decide it was easier to exonerate a dead man than a living one, we'll deal with it.”

She leant back to look at him, brow furrowed. “I fought Death to keep you, Severus. I will not let anyone take you away from me.”

The corners of his mouth twitched – that half-smile she loved so much – and he caressed her face. “You are magnificent.”

Rising on her toes – and having to use his chest as support to not topple over – she kissed him softly. Coming back down, she grabbed Minnie's carrier in one hand and the Portkey in the other. It showed 15 seconds until departure time.

“Let's go home.”

Severus wrapped his arm tightly around her waist and grabbed the Portkey. They disappeared with a pop, the sound of Minnie hissing clinging to the air.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've been super blessed to have two (!!!) amazing fan arts created for this story. You can find art by Rickedsab [here](https://rickedsab.tumblr.com/post/631878151942864896/a-fanart-gift-for-morbidmuch-spoiler-alert) and by Opal Chalice [here](https://opalchalice.tumblr.com/post/634588744908947456/a-wonderful-story-from-sshg-spooktober-fest-2020)  
> I am blown away by you taking the time to make art from something I've written, and I cannot express my gratitude enough.

**Author's Note:**

> Like it? Loathe it? Love it? Let me know.
> 
> Come chat with me on [Tumblr!](https://morbidmuch.tumblr.com/) I'm friendly and sometimes funny.


End file.
